


The Transaction

by tea_petty



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Captured, Drugged Sex, F/M, Kissing, Massage, Mildly Dubious Consent, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rough Sex, Sleeping with the enemy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22964329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: Deacon tries to strike up a deal with Sole, but it falls apart.
Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor
Kudos: 63





	The Transaction

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

It was dark. 

Instantly Sole was suspicious of this heavy darkness – her eyes were open, and there was a pressure around her head. 

She was blindfolded. 

This realization came as abruptly as the slam of a door some ways away. Sole stiffened, her body straining against a constricting pressure from around her torso. Her arms felt welded to her sides, and the stiffness at her back was abrasive against the natural curvature of her body. At times, the bindings (rope? More cloth?) around her torso would dig into the crease of her elbow, and a peal of pain would ring through her right arm – which was somehow more bruised than the rest of her. All this was alarming, but not as much as the voice that rang out next was.

“Charmer! It’s been a while.”

A deep chill leeched into Sole’s blood. So cold, it must’ve been dense and churning, like the waters steel battle ships cut through. So thick and troubled, it must’ve turned to sludge in her veins. Her heart lurched into the bucking gallop of a startled horse. So strange this contrast, between heart and blood. Sole ached, from fear, from excitement – she hadn’t seen her old partner in so long. She ached with something else too, she could not yet discern. She pushed this observation away, wanting instead to see what Deacon might have to say to her. Why she was here, presumably bound, and why he had done it. Or else, why he was now complicit.

“Or is it ‘Sentinel Charmer’ now? I’ve heard the Brotherhood is quite taken with you.”

Sole felt a slight thrill run through her, even at the obvious slant towards her title. To this day, Deacon still remembered her as Charmer, huh? 

“Is that what you are? Charmed? You’re right anyways – I do go by Sentinel now, though I don’t suppose you care about what that entails.” she said, her voice sounding hoarser than she’d expected.

She swallowed. Her throat was dry. 

“Quite the opposite! See, we’re in need of someone of your… _status_. So I think you’re the right woman for the job.”

His voice was closer now; Sole guessed he was probably standing in front of her now. She shifted in her seat the best she could, wanting to see him, but also not wanting to give Deacon the satisfaction of knowing that she wanted to see him.

“Job? We don’t work together anymore.”

When Deacon spoke again, he was much, much closer now. Sole could feel his warm breath fanning across her face, could smell cigarettes on him.

“No, we don’t,” he paused. “Tonight, you’re _working_ for _me_.”

Sole felt her laughter rattle her form in its bindings.

“Oh? That’s interesting.”

“Yeah.”

There was a clarity that swirled around her, and Sole could feel Deacon pull away.

Sole could see the Deacon in her mind – the one she remembered. He was slouching in his white t-shirt and jeans, hands shoved into his pockets. He was chewing on his bottom lip, thoughtful, in his shades and pompadour wig.

Of course, this was just her imagination – the best it could do with the outdated information on him she had. Truthfully, she hadn’t seen him in years. He’d probably changed his face so many times, she wouldn’t even recognize him. 

But she recognized his cloying tone and the depths it hid, even if she could not discern exactly what lurked in them. She also recognized that it was some bizarre rush of excitement running through her, rather than anger or fear. There was something else – equally as intense, but not the least bit repugnant. At least not to her.

“Speaking of ‘interesting’ – I hear that you and your ‘big happy family’ have some ambitious plans in the works.”

Sole felt herself grin, but she said nothing, waiting for Deacon to continue.

“Plans that involve the Railroad,” he pressed.

Silence crackled between them. 

“Well? No comment?”

Sole bounced her shoulders in a shrug. “You seem like you have it all figured out.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Deacon’s voice came from somewhere Sole had not been expecting – some ways away, behind her, slightly to the left. 

Sole’s skin prickled, and she suddenly felt very vulnerable despite how nothing had changed. He was circling, she’d guess. Her nipples hardened in the cups of her bra.

“There are still some details I’ve been sent to find – you know Des’, always the perfectionist.”

“Right. Best of luck with that.”

Deacon clucked his tongue. Sole felt that pressing warmth again. He had completed his circle. She felt another pressing sort of sensation, and this time, it came from inside her, behind her pelvic bone.

“Luck? No, Charmer, it’s not _luck_ I need.”

Two heavy weights came down on her shoulders then. Sole startled in her seat and yelped. The grasp on her shoulders tightened, the iron in Deacon’s grip digging at the knots in her shoulder muscles, before walking to those at her back. 

“Geez, you’ve always been so tense, but I’ll bet the Brotherhood hasn’t helped at all. You’ve gotta learn to relax, or you’ll be dead by forty.”

Those words should’ve felt more venomous coming from the enemy, but maybe that was just the thing; Sole, despite having sided with the opposing faction, had never, ever considered Deacon himself the enemy. With his hands at her back, the last thing on her mind was the knife he could plant in it.

“Mm,” Sole grunted, flexing experimentally against his touch. Deacon pinched the spasm of stress into nothing before it could grow into real tension. Sole relaxed into his touch once more, sighing contentedly. The heat that trickled in from his touch pooled between her thighs. “You know what they say, ‘here for a mediocre time, not a long time’.”

Deacon laughed, “Is that what they say? Or is that what _you_ say?”

“Well-“

Sole’s voice broke off as Deacon’s fingers had danced at the tender spots at her sides, below her arms and above her ribcage. Her heart leapt into her throat. Then as seamlessly as he’d started, his hands went to her breasts, cupping them through Sole’s flight suit. He fondled them gently, giving a methodical squeeze. Sole could _feel_ her panties clinging to her wet slit, and she wondered if through the flimsy, threadbare cups of her bra, if Deacon could feel her hardened nipples.

Sole wanted to speak – to be outraged or say something cheeky. Something, anything that might retain some modicum of power in this exchange, but truthfully, she had none to even bluff, and Deacon knew that. Whatever words she tried to concoct dried into a breathy moan at her lips, and Deacon grunted approvingly. Sole wondered if this was a part of the interrogation, or if some part of him wanted her too. The non-answer she was left with brought a pang to her chest, and so Sole banished the thought, only wanting to linger in the warmth of Deacon’s hands, and her simmering arousal.

His touch disappeared from her as abruptly as it had started, and Sole felt herself ache with how much her body missed it. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, as if reading her mind, or at least the way her body strained unconsciously towards him. “It’s just time for another dose.”

The heat in Sole’s body condensed and pitted in her stomach like a stone. Dose? She searched herself for traces of anything that could’ve constituted as a dose of anything; was the heaviness in her limbs just stiffness from being tied up? Had she always been this sleepy? 

In the dark, feeling her ribs fight against the tightness with which she was tied, she was hyperaware of her body. Every throb and ache, the slightly arid, dizziness that rattled in her skull like a tumbleweed. 

When Deacon’s warm fingers found her again, it was where she was bound, by her elbow. Though his touch was gentle and skimming, the place he touched was tender, and so Sole winced none the less.

“Sshh,” he soothed, holding her still with one hand. The other rejoined the scene with a needle Sole couldn’t acknowledge until she felt it nip into her bruised flesh.

She flinched in his touch, pained further by the hardness of his grip on her when she did so.

“Give it a bit, you’ll feel better.”

He wasn’t wrong. Whatever he’d injected her with, had worked quickly; and within a few moments, the sleepy ache she’d harbored in her head, had trickled down through the rest of her, dousing her entirety in a pleasant laze. Any pain she felt melted into this, and her earlier arousal had dimmed to a smoldering lick of heat nestled at the pit of her stomach.

“You look like you’re feeling better already.”

At the sound of his voice, the heat gave a little jump. Sole was aware of her still damp panties, and the new wetness she was introducing into them.

“You also look like you have something you want to say,”

Through the fog of the drug’s effects, Sole could feel her sobriety scoff at this. How cocky, to think that this would be enough to loosen her lips for him. If there was anything loosening, it certainly wasn’t her _mouth_.

The corner of her lips twitched into a lazy grin.

“You know what? I…think I do.”

She could hear rustling as Deacon leaned closer.

“That’s great,” his voice was coaxing. “Keep going, you’re doing great.”

“Come closer.”

“Closer,” Sole urged, without waiting to see if she could discern how much nearer he’d drawn. “ _Closer._ ”

She could detect a glimmer of warmth a few inches away from her face, and so she knew he was near.

“What is it?” He asked in a low voice, “What do you want to tell me now?”

A smug giddiness rose in Sole’s chest. If she hadn’t been burning for him, she would’ve laughed in his face.

“I want to tell you…”

“Yes?”

“To fuck me.”

While she’d just managed to deliver the line with a straight face, now it was all over. She broke out into a wide grin. In Deacon’s simmering silence, she deduced anger. She wondered if he’d really thought she’d been so willing to spill Brotherhood secrets already – his experience had to weigh against such a simplistic plan for victory, and yet, if not that, then what had gotten his hopes up?

“Is that really what you want?” he finally asked, his voice hard.

This didn’t bother Sole so much – what did he have to be pissed about? She was the one tied up after all.

“Yeah.”

She felt that swirling, vague heat again – he’d gotten closer – maybe to make his words hit harder.

“Oh yeah? Right now?”

Sole felt too relaxed to care. If ever her mind tried to conjure up a worry, or anything else with friction, it floated far, far away, before it could gain any traction in her thoughts.

“Sure, yeah.”

Her bindings tightened suddenly, as she was wrenched forward. Sober Sole would’ve yelped in alarm. Instead, she leaned into the motion. When Deacon cut through the bindings (unbeknownst to Sole, careful not to cut her in the process), she spilled to the floor. Her limbs caught her halfheartedly, before buckling under her full weight.

It was Deacon who hoisted her back into an upright position, his strong arms on her shoulders once more. This brought back the phantom of his touch at her breasts. Sole had enough energy to squeeze her thighs together, and she moaned.

“Not enough, huh? You still, really want to fuck?”

Some of the vitriol was lost in his voice. Sole had vague memories of this Deacon, this half-sad, half-angry Deacon. Even then, when she’d been his closest confidant, she’d wondered what it might be like to lay with him like this.

“Yeah, yeah.”

One arm reached around her, finding the zip of her suit. The feeling of him pressing against her stoked at the heat of her arousal, and she tried best she could to arch into him. He yanked the zipper down and wrenched the suit from her shoulders.

A new chill washed over her feverish skin as the garment parted, baring her to him. In three, jerked motions, he had her suit (and boots) off and in disarray on the ground. It was concrete, she thought, the floor that is, her knees leeching pain from the bruising hardness.

She could smell her arousal, with her thighs parted slightly. Her left bra strap slipped from her shoulder, and she willed desperately for the shabbiness of the fabric, combined with the weight of her breasts, to let the garment drop fully. She didn’t have to wish for long.

“I told you, I still want to fuck,” Sole said when a few moments had passed, and she still wasn’t naked.

Deacon was wordless, but Sole felt the pressure release again at her chest, when the clasp of her bra was released, and the garment dangled loosely at the crooks of her elbows. Through all of this, the blindfold remained on.

Sole could hear Deacon’s breathing, roughened, but she was so untethered from her surroundings that she couldn’t, for the life of her, pinpoint where he was. If she could, she probably would’ve thrown herself onto him.

Sole lowered her arms, letting her bra drop off onto the floor. She had half a mind to touch herself; she was practically aching with the need, and Deacon still hadn’t touched her since she left the chair. Then, she heard the clanking of a belt buckle as it clattered to the ground. She caught whiff of his musky scent before she felt something brush against her cheek.

“Fine Charmer, you win.”

Heat prickled along the inside of her skin. She didn’t have to see what was at her face to know what it was. Guided by the sensation of it along her cheek, she maneuvered so that it trailed down to her lips. She pressed an experimental kiss to his tip and heard Deacon’s breath roughen above her. Sole felt herself smile against it, before easing her mouth around his hardened length. The musky scent she’d caught earlier seemed to expand in her mouth, become more tangible as she sucked and lapped at him.

When she bobbed at his cock, she did so with the movement of her entire body, leaning in, bracing her hands at her thighs to ensure balance so she could master the angle at which to suck him off. One hand came up to grasp his length, the part where she struggled to reach, and she made flitted movements between covering the base of his cock and stroking his balls.

Deacon’s hands came up to tangle in Sole’s hair, holding her to him, but with a surprising tenderness. Despite her earlier state of being tied up, it was not an iron grip that kept his cock hilted in her mouth. If anything, the grip was for Deacon – to fill his hands with her, to have something tangible to hold in esteem when his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he thanked whatever god was out there. 

If Sole wanted to, she could’ve pulled away easily. Instead, she kept teasing the flat of her tongue against his tip, hollowing her cheeks and sucking them in. The sound of her mouth moving against him punctuated the loaded atmosphere with lewd, wet noises, and soon after this began, Deacon’s grip on her tensed and he pushed her away.

“Let’s not finish this too early,” he grunted, his hands still braced against the sides of Sole’s head. He didn’t want her to stray too far.

Sole waited for more, and Deacon’s hands left their position at her head, drifting downwards. From behind the blindfold, Sole’s eyes fluttered shut as his hands found her breasts once more. The first touches were soft, stroking, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was his to touch like this.

Then they grew steadily rougher, feeding the wetness that had since accumulated between her thighs. He palmed roughly at her breasts, squeezing just shy of painful. Then, in one sudden motion, he wrenched his hands down and hoisted Sole up by her ass.

She yelped, caught off guard by the movement, and fell forwards where Deacon caught her, face nuzzled into her chest. His kisses were heated and frantic now, hungry and stinging with the little sucks and nips he peppered down her sternum. His lips found her nipple and he gave a rough suck. Sole hadn’t realized he’d been holding her arms down until she jolted at the sensation.

One of his hands slunk down and forced its way between her thighs.

“Open up,” he said, his voice husky.

Sole felt her face warm. Could he tell that his command had made her wetter? When his fingers pressed in between her wet folds, her wetness was announced in a loud, vulgar noise.

Sole groaned, more so in embarrassment then pleasure, until Deacon, urged on by this noise, hastened his ministrations, and stroked deeper, brushing her sensitive clit. Sole moaned, now fully enraptured by the feeling of Deacon touching her – factions be damned.

He rubbed quickly, in small, jerked motions. Every time his fingers bumped that sensitive bundle of nerves, she jolted in her arms, an electric shock of pleasure ringing through her. It was almost painful, but very erotic, the way Deacon’s roughhousing translated into her ultimate pleasure.

She ground herself against his fingers, feeling them nudge her entrance.

“Fuck, you’re so _soft_.”

Sole whimpered as Deacon pressed two fingers into her entrance. She heard the ease at which they slipped in, and felt another feverish blush overtake her.

“And ready,” Deacon added. 

Sole felt a little thrill run through her at this. Deacon never gave her a chance to respond. His fingers had left her in the next moment, and Sole felt herself being turned around.

“What-“

“Trust me, you know, like the good ol’ days.”

His voice had the sort of dandy skip that told Sole he didn’t really think it was worth explaining to her what he was doing, which meant that despite his reassurances, she’d be left in the dark. 

Sole felt her sex throb in anticipation. 

When Sole felt herself still, Deacon’s grip no longer restricting, she reached out tentatively in front of her. She was hunched over, the concrete floor bruising her knees. Where her hand landed, she felt firm warmth, and the softness of a man’s flesh lined with wiry hairs. Deacon’s legs?

She knew he was watching her, but couldn’t tell what _part_ of her, and so she felt every part prickle a little uneasily. The urge to cover herself gained enough momentum for her to cross her arms over her chest, despite the red splotches that marked her skin, denoting the area thoroughly explored already.

“Quite the view you’re giving me, Charmer,”

“I wouldn’t know,” Sole quipped back, though she still burned.

Deacon’s grip found her again, hooking at her hip, and dragging her back. When she felt the engorged tip of his cock bump against the wet seam of her cunt, she understood what was happening. Just the idea of him filling her made her clench wantonly. She started to slowly lower herself onto him, but as soon as the tip sunk into her, Deacon’s grip on her hips firmed, and he yanked her down onto him.

A faint burn seared her where his haste had stretched her, though through her wetness, this gave way quickly to a pleasant, throbbing heat just as Deacon thrust roughly up into her.

His hips connected with hers in a sharp slap. 

In all the fantasies Sole’d had about fucking Deacon, she’d always imagined him to be a ‘motion of the wave’ over the ‘size of the boat’ sort of man, but here in the flesh, in _her_ , she could confirm that the boat wasn’t very lacking in size either, despite how he jostled her. His grip was bruising at her hips, forcing her to go at his pace. From behind her, she could hear his breath coming in sharp little pants, feel his breath fan against her shoulder blade. Sometimes, after a particularly rough thrust, he’d grunt or curse. Sole could barely make these out though, above the sounds of her own sounds, growing louder and more frequent as the tension in the pit of her stomach condensed.

Sole fumbled for a grip on Deacon, his hands at her hips the only thing keeping her upright. Her sweat slick palms slipped from him once, then once more. At this, Deacon paused his thrusting, only to loop a strong arm around her elbows, all the better to cinch her arms behind her back before he continued to fuck her. Now, he could see all her good bits, and how they responded to him taking her.

The generous give of her hips, her pert breasts, everything moving with the motion of his thrusts. It was so sloppy, this shaking, trembling woman on his cock, her slick seeping out to coat his cock, it was almost enough to make him come right there.

Deacon’s arm slackened its vise-like hold at Sole’s arm, reaching around instead to grasp at a breast. He thumbed her soft nipple, feeling it harden again under his ministrations, feeling the weighty buoyancy of Sole in the palm of his hand. His cock twitched inside of her. Sole felt it, and in an act of defiance, she forced herself down against Deacon’s thrust.

“Shit Charmer, I’m _close_.”

Sole was too. Despite how deeply buried in her he was, it still wasn’t close enough. Sole and Deacon lost their rhythm, and as Deacon rocked his hips upwards, Sole kept pressing herself down, down, down, determined to catch all of him when he spilled into her.

Deacon grunted as he pounded into her, quickening as he raced to catch his end. Sole relished the friction meanwhile, drank in the heat he was rubbing into her, and willing it to draw her own orgasm out. She bounced on his lap, everything weighing on the moment where she came – there was no after, as far as she was concerned.

Deacon tensed, pulling her down and holding her there as he spilled inside of her. Sole moaned at the feeling of the seeping warmth spread in her. She bucked her hips, her sex clenching around him haphazardly as her own release came.

Her skin still felt flushed in a condensing cold sweat against her feverish skin, when she slumped atop Deacon, spent.

She felt the slide of the fabric on her head as Deacon pulled the blindfold off. She warmed immediately at seeing his eyes on her. He looked much different than she remembered; still mysteriously young, with dark hair, and strong cheekbones, but those eyes – the same pale, blue, remained the same. 

A sudden swell of grief and joy mingled in her chest, choking back anything she’d planned on saying.

They were in a room Sole had never seen before – though ‘room’ was perhaps to generous of a term for the glorified, concrete box. There was one dismal lightbulb hanging, and they sat right below it, bathed in cold, clinical light that illuminated the smears of dirt against her skin and the shine of sweat.

The entire room reeked of sex.

Deacon didn’t say anything either. What was there to say? He’d gone in for information and come out with only a good fuck to show for it. Sole had wanted a good lay, and now that it was over, she wanted to cover up, and disappear, never to be found, never to be held accountable for sleeping with the enemy.

She blinked. Deacon opened his mouth as if to speak, then there was a harsh knock at the door.


End file.
